


Sherlock and Godzilla Take on the World

by Bluebluebaby



Category: Scott & Bailey
Genre: F/F, Will They or Won't They (They Will Obviously), almost canon compliant, slowish burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-06-12 18:46:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15346212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluebluebaby/pseuds/Bluebluebaby
Summary: Post-Series Finale. Imagine Rachel had the character growth to get on birth control- everything's canon compliant except the pregnancy.Rachel reaches out to an old mentor in the wake of her own kidnapping. But her feelings for Gill were always more than strictly professional...





	1. Chapter 1

The thing about being almost murdered, is, it really puts everything in perspective. Thoughts that got pushed away resurface; old concerns don’t seem so important. 

 

If anything, her kidnapping should have sent Rachel running into the arms of the Met and far, far away from Manchester, but suddenly it’s apparent just how much unfinished business she has here. What with Janet’s newfound Rachelesque tendencies and Alison’s marital struggles, it’s not the right time. And Janet’s right (isn’t she always?)- she doesn’t want to be like her mother, running away when things get tough. 

 

So she picks up her phone (a new one, thank god), and presses the little green button. 

 

“If you’re calling for DCI advice I’ll have to charge a consulting fee.” 

 

“I thought you saved up for retirement.” 

 

“Sammy and Orla are much more posh than I was at that age. So if my son’s wedding is unnecessarily lowbrow it’s all your fault, Bailey.” 

 

A pause, and then (quietly),  

 

“It’s good to hear from you, Rachel. How are you doing?” 

 

Rachel sighs, weary and elated simultaneously. It’s so comforting to hear Gill’s voice that she wonders why she waited a year to reach out to her. 

 

(Well, there was the whole escaping to another city to avoid the black hole of Gill’s absence at the syndicate, then inadvertently taking her old job without  _ really _ earning it, and it was only after the dust settled that she even considered that in these particular circumstances, Gill might be remarkably sympathetic.) 

 

“I recall someone once lashing out at that question.” 

 

She sees Gill’s glare on the other end of the line, clear as day. 

 

“Maybe I’ve gone soft in my retirement.” 

 

“Or maybe you know what you’re talking about.” 

 

“That, too. They send you to a shrink?”

 

“Yeah. I got the all-clear to go back, but Janet’s bugging me to keep at it, outside the department.” 

 

“She’s probably right about that. Don’t tell her I said that.” 

 

“Oh, come on, Janet’s not nearly so insufferably smug as I am.” 

 

“No one’s as insufferably smug as you are, Sherlock. Heaven help your underlings.” 

 

“God, talk about a rocky fucking start. Course, now, I expect they’ll feel bad I almost died and actually do some work. How on earth did you ever make a productive officer out of Pete?” 

 

“Well, for starters, I wasn’t twenty years his junior, and we’d never been peer rank. No one knows Syndicate Nine like you do, but no one has your baggage either, kid. And given that you jumped from Sergeant to DCI as soon as you returned from running about London, a few are bound to be resentful. Lash out. Being in charge means people project a lot onto you.” 

 

Rachel racks her brain, wincing at memories of all the times she got cross at Gill for something that had nothing to do with work. 

 

“Point taken. How much do I owe you for that wisdom?”

 

“Consider it a gift. I missed your birthday.” 

 

“I’m sorry. For not calling earlier. Everything was so… weird.” 

 

Gill huffs over the phone, and Rachel smiles at the image of her rolling her eyes, clearly regretting taking this call now that they’re in borderline-emotional territory.

 

“I’m glad you’ve called now. Don’t know that I would have done in your shoes. Trust me, Rachel, I’m self-aware enough to realize how much of a twat I was at the end.”

 

“I dunno, boss, if you hadn’t mucked up a little I would have never felt worthy enough to encroach on your free time with a phone call, much less try to actually follow in your footsteps.” 

 

“Gee, I don’t think it’s gone to your head enough. I still meant what I said, though. I  _ am _ proud of you. Continue to be.” 

 

“If you knew all the details you might not be.” 

 

(Borrowing a suit from Janet in the ladies’ comes to mind.)

 

“Julie keeps me updated enough to know that my protege is living up to my legacy.”

 

“Pillowtalk about how I rolled into town looking like a dyke on a bike?” 

 

Rachel’s not sure why she’s said it. As soon as the words have left her mouth she feels as petty and childish as she did in the early days, when she thought she was so skillfully hiding her nicknames and funny faces.

 

Gill barks out a laugh. 

 

“That’s a ship that’s long since sailed. You do know Superintendent Dodson is married, don’t you?  _ I’ve _ always respected that institution, unlike my ex-husband.” 

 

The dismay Rachel feels at being lumped in with Dirty Dave is far outweighed by joy at the knowledge that Dodson isn’t competition.

 

(And then slight nausea at the revelation that she still feels possessive and jealous where Gill Murray is concerned.)

 

_ Bloody hell.  _

 

“Um, no. She’s not exactly forthcoming about her personal life.”

 

“God, she’s worn a wedding ring for the past ten years- for a brilliant detective you really are thick.” 

 

“I just thought the way you were carrying on at your retirement do… for the love of god don’t mention this conversation to her, she’s already up my arse enough.” 

 

Rachel visualizes Gill pinching the bridge of her nose, exasperated as ever. 

 

“Her motivation for making public my bisexual tendencies was something else entirely… But now is really, really, not the time for that conversation. Look, kid, I think you’ll probably have nightmares, not sleeping for a good bit, but, the thing is, you got the guy. You fought back, you won, and, the bastard deserved everything that happened to him. He won’t haunt you the way Helen Bartlett does me.” 

 

“But his victims will.” Rachel remembers the anger in Will’s mother’s voice, deserved, and all the more cutting for it. 

 

“Don’t they all? I mean, if you’re forgetting the names of the cases you’ve worked, it’s time to call it quits, isn’t it?” 

 

“Sometimes I wonder if the job fucks us up, or if we become detectives because we’re already dark and twisty.” 

 

“The important thing is we’re absolute nutters either way.” 

Rachel smiles despite herself.

 

“Thanks for taking my call, Gill, I appreciate it.” 

 

“Anytime, Rachel. If you can’t sleep, ring me- heaven knows I’m not keeping normal hours.” 

 

“Yeah, well, if you get nostalgic for bossing someone around, I’m happy to oblige a bit of ordering about, for old times’ sake.” 

 

“Don’t tempt me.” 

 

“Goodnight, Gill.” 

 

“Goodnight, Rachel. Sleep well.” 

 

And she does. 


	2. Chapter 2

The night of Gill’s retirement party, Julie Dodson pulls her aside for a wager. 

 

“Fifty quid if you snog Rachel Bailey tonight.” 

 

“Are you pissed already? Hell no!” 

 

“C’mon, Gill, give an old gal a little vicarious excitement. Faithful monogamy is many things, but entertaining is rarely one of them.” 

 

“Oh please, I’ve walked in on you and Sharon more times than I would care to remember.” 

 

“Oh, god, lesbian bed death is  _ absolutely _ a myth, but I was more referring to the whole “will they or won’t they?” suspense. We will. We do. Have done.” 

 

Gill frowns, both at Julie’s entirely unnecessary eyebrow waggle, and at the thought of risking rejection with Rachel.

 

“She’s a subordinate! Aren’t you supposed to have stronger ethics than the rest of us?”

 

“Not anymore, she’s not! And she fancies the pants off of you, so, strike while the iron’s hot.” 

 

“If I pay you the money right now will you back off of it?” 

 

“I make no promises after more than 3 shots.” 

 

“Hmmmph.” 

 

_

 

Gill covers her blush at Julie’s  **_“Not just male!”_ ** with a threat for gossip and a studious avoidance of the scrutiny of one Rachel Bailey. There are enough offers to dance, to drink, to reminisce that she manages to avoid her for the rest of the night, though her eyes can’t seem to stay away.

 

“You’re not supposed to mope at your own party, Slap.” 

 

Julie’s three sheets to the wind, but only a trained observer would catch the breathiness in her voice, the slightest droop to her eyes. 

 

“It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to. Who invited  _ him,  _ anyway?” 

 

Julie sizes up Will Pemberton, who has zero interest in the guest of honour, as Gill continues her rambling. 

 

“How am I supposed to compete with that anyway? He’s literally tall, dark, and handsome, and I’m just short, pale, and … fearsome.” 

 

“If you asked, she’d say yes.” 

 

“Did I tell you I made her cry? Told her I was ‘ _ so proud of her _ ’ and she starts welling up like I’ve given her the best gift in the world. If I were to follow that up with ‘ _ by the way, Rach, I really do think you’re a brilliant detective but I’ve also wanted to shag your brains out for the past 4 years, hope that doesn’t complicate things, _ ’ I’m a perv and she’s doubting herself. Not worth it.” 

 

“Oh my god.” 

 

“What?!” 

 

Julie shakes her head, ruefully. 

 

“I’m sorry for needling you, Gill. I thought you just fancied her. Didn’t realize you were in love with her.” 

 

Gill bites back a half-formed protest. If she’s learned anything the past few weeks, it’s that lying to Julie never ends well. 

 

“Shut up and buy me more drinks.” 

_

 

Rachel’s gone for London before Gill can even consider whether there could be any circumstance in which she could contrive an excuse to ring her up, to “run into” her. And, if Gill’s not one to sit and mope over a bloke, she isn’t one to cry over a woman, either. 

 

She gets an offer from the university to lecture in the criminology department. It’s a good placeholder while she decides what the fuck she actually wants to do with the rest of her life- she’s always felt purposeful when inspiring young women and bursting the egos of entitled young men. 

 

It’s the loneliest year she’s had since her divorce, without the constant interaction with the family she’d built at work. Sammy’s around more, concern ever-present in his eyes, but once he realizes that Gill is probably better than she’s been in a long while, he too, returns to normalcy. 

 

She stops drinking. Starts reading books, for fun. Gets a cat, for a bit of company that’s not too clingy. 

 

A year feels like an eternity and yesterday, both,  when Julie calls her. 

 

“Hiya slap! Got a case you can’t solve?”

 

“Too early to tell, honestly, but no, this is a personal call.” 

 

“For the last time, I won’t join your lavender rounders league.” 

 

“And yet you complain about never meeting anyone… speaking of, the reason why I a _ ctually  _ called, DS Bailey is back from her secondment. Looking a little rougher for the wear, but that’s sort of your bag, isn’t it?” 

 

“That’s inappropriate coming from her superior officer, Dodson.”

 

“All I stated was my observation that she might ought invest in a few suits if she wants your job.” 

 

_ “No.” _

 

“On a temporary basis, yeah. Budget cuts, hiring freezes, no one qualified blah blah blah.” 

 

“She’s good, but, dear lord, I hope her management skills have improved. Rachel’s never been good at hiding her feelings, especially if they’re of the negative variety.” 

 

“I’m keeping an eye on her, don’t worry. But she can run a case, yeah? Tell me I’ve not made a terrible decision.” 

 

“She’ll rise to the occasion, don’t worry. She’s bullheaded but not daft. Just, I don’t know, validate her. Let her know she’s doing all right. Poor thing had a shit childhood and she’s like a lost puppy seeking approval sometimes. I don’t know, maybe she’s grown out of it.” 

 

“Or maybe she just wanted  _ your  _ approval.” 

 

“You’re not doing this, Julie. I’ll tell Sharon you’re meddling in other people’s love lives again.” 

 

“It was one blind date!” 

 

“Which ruined her book club dynamic, and don’t you forget it.”

 

“I love you, too.” 

 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” 

_ 

 

Julie disappears for the next few weeks after that- it’s one of the biggest cases MMP has seen in years, if not decades, and Gill gets most of her information from news reports. 

 

She thinks about dropping by the pub after Mitch’s death, but the sacred and profane rituals of the syndicate are no longer hers. She thinks about getting pissed at home alone, but puts on the tea kettle instead, sitting in the dark and waiting for the sun to rise. 

 

_

 

“Rachel Bailey called me last night.” 

 

“That so?” 

 

Julie has a way of making talking while eating look both dignified and desperate. She also has a way of timing her bites to make Gill carry the burden of conversation. 

 

“She thought I might have some advice, what with being a member of the knife-to-the-neck club.” 

 

“It’s a shit club. Did you?” 

 

“Nothing that wasn’t common sense. But then again, Rachel’s never had an excess of common sense, so… She thought you and I were together.” 

 

Julie chokes on her scone. 

 

“Not the first person to make such an assumption.” 

 

“I think your wife would be jealous of me if she didn’t know I was eons out of your league.” 

 

“And that I’ve never been into smug types. You however...” 

 

“God help me, I like ‘em bratty,” Gill shrugs. 

 

“How did she react, when you revealed that I have indeed managed to ‘have it all?’” 

 

“Strictly speaking, Julie, I think women having it all refers to work, marriage, and children, so you’re only at 66 percent, but she seemed… pleased? And then made a joke about me ordering her around for shits and giggles, so I’m thoroughly confused.” 

 

“What’s confusing? She’s still gagging for ya.” 

 

“That’s vulgar.” 

 

“ _ She’s _ kind of vulgar.” 

 

“How is it that you’re still her boss and yet I’m behaving like the professional here?” 

 

“I don’t want to do filthy, depraved things to DS Bailey. That’s all you, Gill.” 

 

“Honestly, though, what do I do?” 

 

“About the innuendo? You can wait it out, or you can call her on it. I know what the Gill Murray I know would do.” 

 

“I hope you’re quite pleased.” 

 

“Thrilled. This is more dramatic than the two weeks my mother-in-law stayed with us, unannounced.” 

 

“How did you get to be such a boring old twat?” 

 

“You abandoned me for the settled life first, remember? I just chose a better spouse.” 

 

“There’s no arguing with that, is there?”

 

Gill sighs, wondering what could have been. She wouldn’t trade Sammy for the world, but sometimes she can’t help but feel like she wasted her romantic prime. 

 

“I won’t give you any more details about what may or may not proceed between myself and Bailey, though. Can’t have you being vindictive.” 

 

Julie laughs. 

 

“I promise not to ruin her career, Gill, even if she breaks your heart.” 


	3. Chapter 3

“Did you mean what you said the other day?”

 

“Hello to you, too,” Rachel grumbles, grateful for the distraction from her computer monitor.

 

(For some reason she’d thought her career advancement might entail more than an abundance of emails. Foolish, wishful thinking.)

 

“Did I mean what?”

 

“About me… ordering you about.”

 

_Shit._

 

It’s a good thing Gill can’t fire her anymore.

 

(Although, given all the things she got away with, a bit of ill-advised innuendo is hardly a sackable act.)

 

“I’m sorry, Gill, it was a poor idea of a joke. Apologies for any… offence.”

 

“So you’ve never had sexual thoughts about me?”

 

Rachel’s eyes glaze over, the inbox before her entirely forgotten.

 

(Gill is still as intimidating an interviewer as ever.)

 

“That’s not what I said… But, you know, I’ve had sexual thoughts about an awful lot of people.”

 

Gill gives a little huff.

 

“Honestly, Rachel, I don’t know if that answer is meant to placate me or irritate me.”

 

“Me neither, to tell the truth. Look, it was daft, I promise not to pull that shit again, older, wiser, et cetera.”

 

“When are you free for dinner?”

_

 

Janet gives her a once-over as Rachel finishes straightening up in the mirror.

 

“You haven’t left this early in ages. Hot Date?”

 

Rachel’s not really sure how to answer that.

 

“Actually… I’m meeting Godzilla for dinner.”

 

“Huh. Didn’t realize you had gotten back in touch.”

 

“I called her about a week ago… thought she might have some perspective about, well, all the shit that’s happened lately.”

 

“And?”

 

“And what? She asked me to meet her for dinner and I thought it would be rude to turn her down?”

 

Janet shakes her head, closing in on the gaps in Rachel’s narrative.

 

“There’s something you’re not telling me. You’re fidgeting with your hair like Taisie before a school dance.”

 

“It’s not a date!”

 

“You just wish it were.”

 

“ _JANET_.”

 

“I’m not judging! You’ve certainly done a lot worse than Gill Murray.”

 

“I will not be _doing_ Gill Murray, thank you very much.”

 

Of course, Anna takes this opportunity to come barging in.

 

“Wow. Really feel like I missed a lot of build-up here.”

 

“Jesus Fucking Christ.”

 

Rachel storms off, as Janet yells out, “Use protection!”

 

_

 

Gill gives Rachel a blank, appraising stare as she rushes into the restaurant.

 

“I’m sorry- Janet was being a twat and then traffic was a bugger and I promise I truly meant to be on time.”

 

Gill tilts her head a little, as if just registering that Rachel was in fact, apologising to her, and for a moment, Rachel thinks that she might have been checking her out instead of mentally chastising her.

 

“My fault for not picking somewhere closer to the station. But I figured you wouldn’t want to risk running into a colleague, and if I run into another faculty member it will just make me seem more interesting. I don’t mind a bit of gossip when I have no ambitions.”

 

“So you’re not planning a full career in academia?”

 

Gill rolls her eyes.

 

“It’s honestly dreadful, Rachel. I thought, I can handle young adults- I mean, Sammy and I get on just fine, but gosh, either I’m exceptionally lucky or other parents are just shite, because half of these kids don’t know their arse from their elbow.”

 

“Probably a bit of both,” Rachel muses, “though I imagine having two coppers for parents would make him more astute than your average pupil.”

 

“I’m not renewing my contract. I’d rather write mystery novels than grade term papers for another year.”

 

“You’d be good at it. Writing mysteries. Bet no one would guess your twists and turns, with a brain like yours.”

 

Gill grins, wry and devious, and Rachel tries not to squirm too much in her seat.

 

“You really don’t know how to give a compliment, do you?”

 

The waiter interrupts, taking their wine order (nothing for Gill, red for Rachel, because she can handle many things, but complete sobriety in the face of Gill Murray is not one of them).

 

“Let me rephrase then, shall I? The public would be privileged to bear witness to the intimate workings of your absolutely brilliant mind.”

 

“That’s better. What about you? Enough of my complaining. How’s things?”

 

Rachel takes a moment to contemplate her response, before deciding on complete honesty.

 

“I really considered putting in for a transfer to the Met. Might still. I don’t know.”

 

“Because you like it there, or because you don’t like it here?”

 

“London was _exciting_. But maybe it was just the time limit of it all, being undercover,” Rachel shrugs.  “Excitement does not a career make.”

 

“It’s rewarding in a different way, heading a team. Crime faculty was glamourous, being the hero, swooping in and solving it all and getting out before the slog of paperwork and proper policing set in. But leading a syndicate from start to finish on a case- I’m grateful to have done it, even if it wasn’t where I thought I’d be.”

 

There’s a lull, as Rachel sips her wine and Gill thinks back on the twists and turns of her own career. It’s not as uncomfortable as she would have guessed, sitting in silence with her former boss. Not that she isn’t still a bit terrified of Gill- but she seems softer now.

 

“You look well. I meant to say that earlier- feels a bit silly to say it now, but, here we are.”

 

Rachel blushes as she fumbles around her words, and _there’s_ that old familiar burn of mild humiliation.

 

It’s true though; Gill’s hair is longer now, just brushing the tops of her shoulders. Her fringe falls to the right side, not nearly so strict and severe as it once was. She’s as sharp and tiny as ever, but her skin glows, maybe from quitting booze, maybe from actually getting proper sleep. She’s always looked formidably gorgeous, but tonight she looks _healthy_.

 

“You don’t look too shabby yourself, Sherlock. The wannabe rockstar look suits you.”

 

“And _I_ don’t know how to give a compliment?”

 

“Oh please, that was purposeful. Your head’s big enough as is. Can’t have you walking around thinking I find you attractive.”

 

“Course not,” Rachel rolls her eyes and takes a swig of wine.

 

The way Gill’s eyes trace the line of her throat, however, from her jaw all the way down to the unbuttoned collar of her shirt, belies her words.

 

Rachel doesn’t usually get nervous on dates (is this a date?). She’s never been the type of girl to order a salad, or pretend to laugh at jokes that aren’t funny. But then again, she usually doesn’t give a toss about what a bloke thinks about her.

 

She cares _tremendously_ what Gill Murray thinks about her.

 

It’s too much, that scrutiny, that obligation to rise to Gill’s level of wit. She opts for an easy out.

 

“I once remember you threatening to tell stories about Julie Dodson. I could use some leverage.”

 

Gill embarks on a monologue about Julie eviscerating some bloke in a pub the first night they met, and Rachel allows herself to relax a bit, laughing at all the right places, interjecting just enough commentary to seem engaged. Somehow, she manages to make it through the entire meal without making too much a fool of herself.

 

When the bill comes, Rachel rushes to pay (she is making better money now, after all), but Gill waves her off.

 

“I asked you, remember?”

 

“Well, I sort of thought this was penance for being a twat…”

 

Gill looks at her, lips pursed, hands clasped, as if deciding her fate.

 

“After spending an evening with me, under minimal duress, do you still have… unprofessional feelings towards me?”

 

Rachel wants to blush and turn away, but Gill’s gaze is steady, and she’s always been a moth to this flame.

 

(The two glasses of wine don’t hurt, either.)

 

“Are you asking me if I still fancy you?”

 

The corner of Gill’s mouth twitches ever so slightly.

 

“I’m asking if you’ll pay next time you take me to dinner.”

 

“Yes.”

 

(It’s an answer to both questions, that much is blatantly obvious, by the flush in her cheeks and the flaring of her nostrils.)

 

Gill walks her to her car, planting a brief kiss on her cheek and offering an “It was lovely to see you, Rachel,” before bouncing off into the night, heels clacking on the pavement.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Janet corners Rachel in the washroom first thing.

 

“So…”

 

“So what?”

 

“How was dinner? With _Godzilla?”_

 

Rachel glowers.

 

“You don’t call her that, remember?”

 

“Is that what you'll call her in the bedroom? You know what, nevermind, I don’t want details.”

 

“Aren’t you seeing some sort of toyboy forensic analyst? How’s his hot young bod?”

 

“Splendid, actually. Thanks for asking. So, did she kiss you goodnight?”

 

“On the cheek. Which you do approximately twice a week, so.”

 

Janet huffs, giving up her interrogation for the moment.

 

“Look, don’t take out your frustration on the syndicate today, okay?”

 

“She said I could pay the next time. Which means she wants to see me again,” Rachel mumbles, giving up all pretence of acting like she’s not entirely besotted with Gill Murray.

 

“Atta girl. And I know you’re usually dumping all the details of your love life on me, but it’s probably best for everyone if you don’t let me know all the nitty gritty when you two finally resolve your years of pent-up sexual tension.”

 

“Shut up. I don’t know why I’m friends with you.”

 

“Because I provide both amazing advice and  physical shelter from your poor decisions.”

 

“Right.”

_

 

Rachel doesn’t goof off near as much as she used to, now that the world is pretty much on her shoulders, but she’s got some down time waiting on a report back from the lab, and all her busy work’s been done for ages. Her phone is far too appealing at the moment, and she never could ignore her own curiosity.

 

_so... do u text? because that might be an insurmountable generation gap if not_

 

The reply is immediate, and Rachel grins despite herself at the thought that Gill might be excited to hear from her.

 

**I’m middle-aged, not geriatric, you insufferable twat. And if I wanted to date a teenage boy I’d find one of Sammy’s friends.**

 

_oh, so we’re dating???_

 

**How is it that you always so entirely miss the point?**

 

_The point: I’m a hot young thang and you want to jump my bones._

 

_(Was that punctuation good enough for you?)_

 

**If anyone’s going to be “jumping,” it’s you. I’m old and arthritic, remember?**

 

_Yet still very fit._

 

**You’re an abysmal flirt, Bailey. It’s a damn good thing you look as good as you do.**

 

_I appreciate confirmation that you do in fact like the way I look._

 

**And now you’ve gone and gotten all big headed again.**

 

**This is the part where you follow up and ask me out to dinner again, you unsocialised nitwit.**

 

_Thursday at 8? I could pick you up if you like, make it all official…_

 

**If you honk the horn while you wait on me I will kill you.**

 

_Please. I’m a gentlewoman. Looking forward to showing you the myriad ways I’m not at all like a teen boy ;)_

 

**I’m well aware you have breasts, Rachel. Well. Aware.**

 

_You could be more aware. Just saying._

 

**I’ll see you Thursday.**

 

_

 

Gill Murray doesn’t get nervous. Or at least, she used not to. Before Helen Bartlett, she never felt a moment’s hesitation in any decision, personal or professional. But there’s a gnawing ache in the pit of her stomach as she readies herself, applying the last touches of lipstick, adjusting the collar of her blouse.

 

It was always easier to handle Rachel Bailey with a drink or two.

 

She expects the other woman could say the same of her, given that drunken phone call from all those years ago.  Gill hadn’t breathed a word of what was said after the Geoff Hastings revelation to anyone, not even Julie, but Rachel’s monologue has reverberated in her memory ever since.

 

_“... god, at least my mother issues didn’t make me a fucking serial killer. Although I guess I have pretty shit taste in men, maybe that’s down to abandonment or something. Maybe I just need someone to bend me over and straighten me out, eh, boss? You’d be good at that, teaching me a lesson, fucking some sense into me… fuck, didn’t mean to say that out loud. I’ll have to unpack that later, Jesus, you know maybe just forget this ever happened? Oh fuck, now my hand’s bleeding…”_

 

Hardly a romantic declaration. Doesn’t mean Gill hasn’t thought about pushing Rachel Bailey up against her desk approximately three hundred times since.

 

She actually rings the doorbell, thank _god_ , and Gill bounds downstairs, heartbeat pounding in her throat.

 

“I’m glad I don’t have to start this date by murdering you.”

 

Rachel grins so hard at the confirmation that this is, undoubtedly, a date, that she completely overlooks the threat.

 

“Shall I carry you over the threshold or?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

 

_

 

There’s a shift in the air, like all the repressed longing from the past five years has finally broken through the surface.

 

Rachel cannot, for the life of her, _stop_ looking at Gill’s mouth. It’s starting to be a problem.

 

“Honestly, Rachel, are you even listening?”

 

“I’m sorry. Look, I misspoke last week, when I said you look well. I mean, you do, but, what I should have said, what I meant to say, is that you look really, truly beautiful. And I’m having a hard time not staring, so I might as well be upfront with it.”

 

Gill Murray actually _blushes_ , and Rachel feels like a goddamn superhero.

 

“I suppose that’s an acceptable excuse… but you’ll really have to get over it, if this,” she gestures between them, “is going to continue.”

 

Rachel gives a mock salute, and devotes more effort to following the conversation.

 

Driving Gill home, however, she notices an increased distance between them. Gill looks like she’s trying to glue herself to the door, staring straight ahead and turning up the stereo instead of attempting to converse. Rachel’s not really sure what to do when they arrive back at the house, so she hesitates in the driver’s seat as Gill folds her arms and frowns.

 

“Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?”

 

Rachel is sat in the living room as Gill putters around the kitchen, feeling a bit like an intruder despite the plain invitation. A grey cat rubs against her calf, aggressively leaning into her.

 

“Who’s this?”

 

“Purry. Short for Gill Purr-ay.”

 

(On anyone else, such a display of narcissism would be dismaying. But in this case it's just, well, _cute_.)

Gill slips off her heels, stocking feet on the carpet, and brings them their mugs, sitting an arm’s length away on the other end of the settee. Rachel accepts the tea, but can’t tolerate the silence for very long.

 

“Have I done something to upset you?”

 

Gill leans her head back and inhales deeply, bracing herself for some unknown blow.

 

“I know I’m no longer your superior officer, but Rachel, if I ever felt I was taking any sort of advantage of you, of our professional relationship, I’m not sure I could live with myself. So, I need you to be the one to initiate this, physically speaking.”

 

Rachel feels like her whole body is floating, like her tongue has turned to molten lead. Somehow she manages to speak.

 

“I’m sorry- are you asking me to kiss you?”

 

Gill meets her incredulous gaze with clear certainty.

 

“If that’s what you want from this, then yes, it would help me tremendously if you could find it within yourself to make the first move.”

 

Despite her hands shaking, knees knocking, Rachel manages to close the gap between them. She can count on one hand the times she’s been close enough to Gill to smell her- it’s frankly embarrassing how instant the effect of her scent is. A careful thumb brushes against the hollow of Gill’s cheek before Rachel leans in for the briefest meeting of lips.

 

She can’t remember the last time she’s had a kiss that could be described as “chaste”- with blokes it’s pretty much straight to tonsil hockey followed by mediocre shagging, but the care with which Gill meets her, as if she is the most precious thing in this world, makes Rachel’s heart (among other things) pound.

 

“Like you mean it, please,” Gill whispers, and Christ, Rachel might have been joking about being bossed around, but at this moment, it’s _really_ working for her.  She doesn’t have to be told twice.

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

The kiss for five minutes, or an hour- if you asked her, she’d have no idea, but it’s all careful, purposefully restrained. Sure, Rachel’s tongue could now map out the entirety of Gill Murray’s mouth, but not a stitch of clothing is out of place. She’s careful with her hands, careful not to touch Gill’s neck, not to move unexpectedly. Neither one of them is nearly as reckless and free as they once were.

 

Rachel’s almost to the point where she’s about to put Gill’s hand up her shirt herself when she hears the door creak open and they jump apart, instantly on high alert.

 

“Mum? Are you home?”

 

“Sammy,” Gill huffs, shaking off her stupor, “I didn’t know you were stopping by.”

 

“I’ve got tomorrow off class, remember? I thought we could sort out the last of the invitations.”

 

Gill nods, swallowing deeply to get her heart rate back under control.

 

“You remember Rachel, right?”

 

“Sure, from MIT. Good to see you,” he extends a hand warmly, either completely oblivious or accepting to what’s been going on.

 

“I was just leaving,” Rachel smiles thinly, gathering her things and running back to her car.

 

She waits a few hours before texting Gill, not wanting to interrupt but wanting to set things right.

 

_I’m really sorry about Sammy- I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable or make things weird for you two._

 

_I really enjoyed tonight. All of it. Thank you._

 

She tries not to let the lack of response drive her too mad.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Julie and Janet attempt to fix Gill and Rachel's mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because my person insists on knowing more about Julie's imaginary spouse.

“JULIE DODSON,” Gill shouts, walking into her house and straight past a bewildered Sharon, “YOU OWE ME FIFTY POUNDS, YOU MAD COW.”

 

“She’s in the bath, love.”

 

“Oh. Well. Good to see you, Shaz. How’s things?”

 

“Well, I was really enjoying having my wife home for the whole weekend, completely unbothered by work emergencies... “

 

They’re interrupted by the appearance of a bedraggled Julie, clad in old worn dungarees and hair still dripping on the carpet.

 

“What’s this about you shaking me down in front of my family, slap?”

 

“Your wager. Night of my retirement. Pay up.”

 

Julie and Sharon exchange knowing look.

 

“You snogged Rachel Bailey.”

 

“Well, if we’re splitting hairs she snogged me, but I pretty much told her to do it. So.”

 

Julie grins like a goddamned idiot.

 

“Congratulations!”

 

“No, no, congratulations are _not_ in order, because here’s the thing, Sammy came home in the middle of it.”

 

“He walked in on you?”

 

“I mean, I didn’t have my tongue down her throat, but he’s a clever lad, he could tell what was happening. And of course then Rachel goes running out of there like a bat out of hell, and I’m trying to pretend like I just had a random ex-colleague over for a chat and some telly, and it’s all absolute shit, so, a little consolation money would be nice.”

 

Sharon interrupts.

“What did Sammy say to you?”

 Gill frowns.

 “ _How’s Rachel doing? I haven’t seen her in ages! Hasn’t she got your new job?_ But like he was doing everything he could to not say ‘ _Mum is there a reason you’ve got your former subordinate pinned to our couch?_ ’ Anyways, it’s all rubbish timing. I mean, the wedding is in a month and I’ve got too much to do to be gallivanting about with her. Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

 Julie settles a hand on Gill’s shoulder to stop her from completely spiraling.

 “Have you communicated any of this to Rachel?”

 “I thought you didn’t want details.”

 “I don’t want to know DCI Bailey’s bedroom habits, but I’m perfectly capable of offering emotional insight, thank-you-very-much.”

 Gill huffs, crossing her arms.

 “I’ve been avoiding her texts. I just keep imagining her sad puppy eyes- I can’t bear to reject her.”

 “So you’re just going to ghost her?”

 “I’m going to put off making any decision until it’s too late and all opportunities have passed me by.”

 “At least you’re being honest.”

 Sharon interrupts, _again._

 “Gill, can you identify which part is most upsetting to you? Are you worried about upsetting Sammy, or are you worried about getting yourself hurt?”

 Gill fixes her ire upon her.

 “ _Both. “_

 “Well, I think we’re all forgetting the most important question,” Julie winks, “How was the kiss?”

 “Bloody brilliant. Fucking hell.”

_ 

Rachel’s no good at hiding her emotions. On occasion, she can reel them in for very brief periods of time, but they always spill over.

“Who pissed in your cornflakes?”

“When did the washroom become the epicenter of all gossip?”

“Long before you or I, Rachel. Respect the women who paved the way. What’s up? You mess things up with Godzilla?”

“I swear to god if you don’t stop calling her that-”

“I’ll take that as a yes, then. What happened?”

“Nothing happened! I mean, something did, we snogged, it was brilliant, Sammy walked in, and now she won’t return my calls.”

“Sounds like Gill.” 

“Wow, thanks for your help.”

“All I’m saying is, she’s always been protective where he’s concerned. It’s why she stayed with Dave so long, after all. So, if she’s worried about him, yeah, that would complicate things.”

“Doesn’t mean she has to give me the silent treatment. That’s shit and you know it.”

Janet shrugs.

“Our Gill isn’t the most level-headed person at all times.”

Just then, Rachel’s phone pings with a text alert.

“Fuck me.” 

“Thought that was Gill’s job?” 

“Shut up,” Rachel mutters while reading the text, then handing the phone to Janet.

 

_Rachel, upon further reflection, I think it’s best for me to hold off on any sort of personal relationships until after Sammy’s wedding. I’m sorry for the long wait on my response.”_

 

“God, it reads like a bloody formal work email!”

“At least she didn’t address it ‘to whom it may concern.’” 

“Honestly, Janet, remember when you were a helpful friend?”

“How patient are you?”

Rachel stares.

“Have you met me?”

“Let me rephrase: if I let you be my plus one to Sammy’s wedding, thereby giving you an in to make a romantic gesture to Gill, can you bide your time and not fuck up things before then?”

Rachel frowns.

“I make no promises.”

_ 

“You’re using Sammy as an excuse.”

 Julie keeps insisting on meeting Gill for weekly tea, but it feels more like an interrogation than a friendship ritual.

 “You don’t understand, you haven’t got kids.”

 “Low blow, Gill. You lash out when you get defensive.”

 “It’s a bad idea. It’s all a terrible idea, and I let my boredom and my fucking menopausal hormones get the best of me, and now-”

“Now what?”

 “It was easier,” Gill pinches the bridge of her nose, “to manage when I had boundaries.”

Julie raises an eyebrow.

“You mean before you knew what the inside of Rachel Bailey’s mouth tastes like?”

“I _loathe_ you, Julie Dodson, I really do.”  

“Granted, you also know what the inside of my mouth tastes like, and we’ve done all right for ourselves.”

“Honestly, I’m calling Sharon right now and repeating everything you’ve just said to her.”

 “That’s an empty threat and you know it.”

“Because you two can’t keep your bloody hands off of each other after a decade? It’s _sickening_ , honestly.”

 “Is this some sort of internalised homophobia you’re working out, or just petty jealousy?”

“She’s not even gay! I’ve known Rachel for 6 years and she’s never once given the slightest indication that she fancies women in general.”

“But she fancies you in particular.”

 “Yeah, well, it could all be hero worship. Maybe she’s just trying to absorb my brilliance.”

 “Look, Gill, if you want me to force you to take a risk, I’m not going to do it. I think you two honestly suit each other, and I think Rachel’s not nearly so much of a fuck-up as she used to be, but I can’t make you get over your damn self.”

 “You know this whole ‘I’m in a successful relationship with someone who loves and respects me’ thing is really a bad, smug, insufferable look on you.”

 “I love you too, slap.”

_

Anna Ram knows she’s not everyone’s cup of tea. That’s fine- she’s got a great support system, truth be told, and she doesn’t need external validation.

That being said, she wishes there was _anything_ she could do to make Rachel Bailey hate her a little less. For convenience’s sake.

“How did you know you were a lesbian?”

“Excuse me?” 

“Sorry, that sounds accusatory, just, Janet suggested that you might be more an authority than she, seeing as she’s a confirmed heterosexual.”

 

Rachel looks almost… shy. Maybe, just maybe, this is an opportunity.

“Would you rather we go get a coffee and have this conversation away from prying ears?” 

(God help her, Rachel actually _smiles._ )

_

“Okay, so. I’m guessing there’s something that’s brought you to this moment of personal enlightenment.”

Rachel nods, shrugging her shoulders, trying to make herself look inconspicuous.

“Well, I mean, there’s the Gill thing, obviously, but, I’ve been seeing a therapist, after the stuff…”

 Anna nods, remembering every detail of that case (and her own fuckups that helped lead to Rachel’s kidnapping).

“And along the way we were talking about all my failed relationships, my commitment phobia, how I self-sabotage, how I felt like my marriage was suffocating me, and like it was obvious, she just says, ‘well, what if you didn’t love men?’”

Anna nods, not wanting to interrupt this rare stream of conversation.

“But the thing is, I like having sex with men. That’s not an issue, like, I have no problems in that arena. It’s just, the thought of all the other… stuff. Ugh.” 

“But women?” 

 

Rachel sighs, staring at the ceiling, looking like she’d rather pull out all her hair than have this conversation.

 “The only time I’ve actually _been_ with a woman I was drunk off my arse and twenty-three.”

“When you think about being close with another woman though, sharing a bed, making dinner together, all that  boring couple-y shit. How does that feel?”

Rachel blushes, biting her lip.

“Nice. Easy. Like coming home ought to.”

“Sexuality and romantic attraction aren’t the same thing. You could be bisexual and homoromantic, or heterosexual and aromantic, or any combination thereof.”

 “How do you know, though? For sure? I mean, I’m thirty-five, and I’m just now figuring out that I might love women? Maybe Gill is the only woman I’ll ever fancy, and I’ll be just as incapable of intimacy with her as I have been with any of the blokes I’ve dated.”

“Does it matter? I mean, labels can be empowering, and they can help us find each other, but at the end of the day, whatever happens between you and Gill is between you and Gill. Everybody else can go fuck themselves.” 

Rachel raises her eyebrows at the unexpected profanity.

“Didn’t know you had it in you, Ram. I’m impressed.”

“Yeah, well, I can be pretty awesome sometimes.”

 “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Rachel grins.

_

 

 The last time Janet made a non-professional call to Julie Dodson, it ended up with a screaming match in Gill’s office. She’s hoping for better luck this time.

“Janet, how can I help you?”

 “Hi DSI Dodson- I hope I’m not interrupting, or overstepping my bounds, but I wondered if I might ask a… personal favour.”

 “Call me Julie, then.”

 “Right. Julie. Not to be too terribly unsubtle, but assuming you’re still on friendly terms with Gill, and assuming Rachel’s been truthful with me, it would seem that the two of them are being, well, daft, about their blatantly obvious feelings for one another.”

 “God, I’m glad I’m not the only one having to deal with the fallout. No offense, just, misery loves company. And yes, I think you’re correct in your observations.”

 “Well, seeing as I see a lot more of Rachel, I was thinking, perhaps we could coordinate to… nudge them together?”

 

“What did you have in mind?”


	6. Chapter 6

 

Janet’s never seen Rachel this flustered. It’s unsettling.

 

After _three hours_ of back-and-forth she finally settles on a timeless little black dress (which, mind you, Janet had suggested in the first place).

 

“You look great, Rach. Shall we go over the plan one more time?”

 

“I meet you outside the reception, go in as your plus one, don’t get pissed no matter how much I want to, and somehow convince Gill Murray to dance with me.”

 

“Perfect. If you don’t show I will hunt you down. And Dodson’s in on this, so, you know, it’d be good for your career if you play along.”

 

“I’m still _your_ boss, you twat.”

_

 

Other than Dave wailing like a baby, it’s a lovely ceremony. Fortunately Orla’s parents sit between him and Gill- she’s not sure that she would have been able to rein in her eye rolls otherwise, and Sammy deserves better than that.

 

Sammy’s mates whoop and holler at the kiss, and Gill sees Julie through the corner of her eye giving Sharon a peck on the cheek, clearly remembering their own wedding day. So help her god, if Dave gets drunk and starts trying to wax poetic about how happy they were when they got married, she will kill him.

 

(Maybe Julie’s right about her pent-up frustration. Bollocks.)

 

She manages to smile through the photos (it’s hard not to, given how absolutely smitten her son is. He’s a lot better at picking a spouse than his parents, if her assessments of Orla are any indication).  

 

Julie and Sharon are camped out at the bar when Gill arrives at the reception.

 

“We had to stake our claim to chairs, being the menopausal contingent and all,” Sharon deadpans.

 

“And yet it’s done nothing to dampen your sex drive. Congratulations.”

 

“I’m proud of you for not giving me any cause to arrest you for assaulting Dirty Dave. I’m happy to accidentally spill a drink or two on him later, if you’d like.”

 

“Hell no, I’m the one paying for the booze. He’s not worth the waste.”

 

“Suit yourself,” Julie hums into her glass.

 

“God, but it is difficult tolerating him sober. I haven’t done that in a non-professional capacity in bloody years.”

 

“Tonight’s for Sammy, though.”

 

“Motherhood is sacrifice, isn’t it?”

 

Sharon appears ready to go into a rundown of feminist theory on the unequal gendered burdens of parenthood, when her and Julie’s eyes both widen and they wave to someone behind Gill.

 

“Janet! Hi!”

 

Except it’s not just Janet. She’s got Rachel Bailey with her. Apparently “plus one” is a license to invite anyone.

 

(And judging from the sheepish look on Julie’s face this was a coordinated sabotage effort.)

 

At least she has the decency to look nervous.

 

“You did once tell me I could crash your parties anytime…”

 

“I was completely pissed.”

 

“But you meant it, didn’t you?”

 

The others have surreptitiously disappeared to hobnob with the other “olds,” as Julie called them, leaving Gill no refuge from Rachel’s sad puppy eyes.

 

“I reckon some part of me did, kid.”

 

“Congratulations.” Her smile is luminescent. She’s fucking stunning, frankly, and this is all entirely unfair.

 

“They did this because it’s technically ‘after the wedding,’ is that it? Save your congrats for Sammy, Rachel, all I did was foot half the bloody bill.”

 

(It should have been a quarter, but Dave can’t seem to stay out of debt, and sometimes it’s easier to write a check than to argue with that knob.)

 

“I don’t suppose there’s any way on earth I could convince you to dance with me, is there?”

 

Gill is about to reject her when she sees Dave staring at them across the room. Spite is as good a motivator as any.

 

“Yeah, alright.”

 

Rachel’s slack-jawed- she had planned on needing to do more convincing, had rehearsed a whole speech with Janet, but she won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

 

She raises her eyebrows when Gill’s hand slips to the small of her back.

 

“You didn’t think you were going to lead, did you?”

 

“I… hadn’t thought that far ahead. Never danced with another woman before.”

 

“But have you fucked one?”

 

Rachel chuckles, leaning into Gill’s acridity, bending her head to whisper in Gill’s ear.

 

“Yeah. Not that it matters, does it?”

 

Dave looks like his head is about to explode, which makes this all entirely worth it.

 

“Do you think Dirty Dave is looking at you, or me?”

 

“I’d wager both, seeing as I promptly ignored his attempts to drag me out here so that I could ask you to dance. I’m a one-Murray kind of girl.”

 

“You’re not his type anymore. Too smart.”

 

“Well then it’s a miracle you were ever his.”

 

Gill chooses to take the remark as the compliment it was intended, and they dance in silence for a minute, to the quiet strains of Neil Young’s “Harvest Moon.”

 

(Gill hates this fucking playlist. She really likes how Rachel smells.)

 

“You look really lovely, by the way,” Rachel murmurs, and the way she rakes her eyes up and down Gill’s body confirms the sentiment.

 

(She’s wearing a navy frock, fitted but modest, hemmed at the knee with three quarter length sleeves. Gill thinks she looks more like Margaret Thatcher than Marilyn Monroe, but she’s not in the mood for self-deprecation. She lets her hand drift a bit lower down to the swell of Rachel’s backside.)

 

“You’re not wearing any pants.”

 

Rachel grins, devilish and dangerous and Gill really, really, is going to kill Julie the next time she sees her, Sharon be damned.

 

“I was hoping I wouldn’t need them.”

 

“You’re playing with fire, Rachel Bailey.”

 

“Maybe I’m a pyromaniac.”

 

“Among other things.”

 

For all the times Gill that resisted reaching out to Rachel, pulling her into an embrace, their bodies fit together alarmingly well in this moment. It’s easy (and tempting) to imagine the other ways they might meet.

 

“Just give me five minutes to plead my case, Gill, then I swear you can be rid of me for good.”

 

The song ends, the dancers shuffle, and Gill sees one of Dave’s buddies that she’s been meaning to avoid coming towards them as if to step in.

 

Gill drags Rachel out into the alley, where the air is free of loathsome old men and drunk twenty-somethings.

 

“Go on, then.”

Rachel scratches the back of her neck, as if to play with the hair that’s now pinned securely in a chignon.

 

(She favours an up-do, all prominent angles and tall elegance. Maybe she has grown out of her dirtbag phase…)

 

“Look, I can deal with it if you honestly have no feelings for me, but well, I think we both know that’s not true. And you can make excuses, or you can let yourself be happy. I mean, I know I’m not perfect Gill, I’m probably not up to your standards, but Jesus, I’m working on it, I really am-”

 

_Oh, fuck it._

 

Gill pins her against the wall with a searing kiss, equal parts “ _go to hell”_ and “ _don’t you dare ever leave me_.”

 

(This time, Sammy doesn’t interrupt.)

 

“You’ve quit smoking.”

 

Rachel blushes.

 

“You hate the smell.”

 

“Is this some Danny-Zuko-at-the-end-of- _Grease_ nonsense? You better shape up?”

 

Rachel leans back against the brick, looking at the sky and exhaling water vapor where she wishes she had smoke.

“And if it is?”

 

“I’m not wearing trousers I have to be sown into, I’m too bloody old for that.”

 

“Didn’t know you were a fan of musicals.”

 

“Love ‘em. Particularly Rodgers and Hammerstein.” Gill chances a sideways glance at Rachel.

 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

 

“I’d like to, though.”

 

Gill checks her watch, aware that too long an absence from the festivities will send a search party after her.

 

“Orla’s parents have insisted on booking us all rooms for the evening. I’m 321- I’ll be up there by midnight, if you want to… drop by.”

 

“Why, Gill, are you giving me a booty call?”

 

“I’m giving you an opportunity, Sherlock. Now go dance with Janet and don’t get too fucking pissed.”

 

Rachel gives her a mock salute as Gill totters off back inside.

 

(She’s always looked a bit like a newborn baby deer in heels- Rachel finds it insufferably charming.)

 

Janet’s chatting up a bloke at the bar- Sammy’s godfather if Rachel’s memory serves correctly, and she feels a lot less guilty for abandoning her date.

 

Janet gives her a look which says primarily “ _well you aren’t dead so it must have gone all right_ ”  and Rachel gives her a thumbs up in response.

 

Julie and Sharon beckon her over to where they’re holding court (or mocking the terrible dance moves of the groomsmen, from the looks of it).

 

“So?”

 

“Hello, Ma’am.”

 

“Julie, be nice.”

 

“You’ve come a long way from the first time I met you, Rachel. Staying out of trouble?”

 

“I believe you would know, ma’am.”

 

“I loathe Dave Murray with every fiber of my being. Probably more than Gill hates him, because I didn’t have the dumb luck of procreating with that smarmy pile of-”

 

“ _Julie.”_

 

“What I mean, Rachel, is that, while I fully collaborated in making this-” she gestures between Rachel and Gill, who’s not hiding her impatience with the man talking her ear off, “happen, if you hurt Gill, I will destroy you, regardless of what promises I may have made to stay out of your career path.”

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

“What she means,” Sharon interjects, glaring at Julie with a mix of reproach and utter fondness, “Is that she wishes you and Gill all the happiness in the world, and that she’s had too much to drink and I better get her home before she thinks she can dance.”

 

“That, too,” Julie grins, only having eyes for her wife.

 

(Regardless of what happens with her and Gill, Rachel makes a solemn vow never to be this fucking disgustingly sweet in public. It’s nauseating.)

 

Once they’ve left, Rachel allows herself one glass of red wine, savoured, as she people watches, emitting the sort of “don’t-you-dare-fuck-with-me” aura that keeps away strangers.

 

Janet’s allowed to breach it, though.

 

“So, I’m not the only one pulling tonight, eh?”

 

“Shut up. I haven’t seen Mark in over a decade. We were just catching up.”

 

“He hasn’t got a ring.”

 

“He could be gay, you know.”

 

“He’s not. Just untidy enough I can tell. Still plenty handsome, though, if that’s your thing.”

 

“Am I giving you a lift home?”

 

“I’m alright, you go with Mark, hmmmm?”

 

“So, Gill…”

 

“I owe you one, okay.”

 

“The best car for a month?”

 

“A week.”

 

“I’ll take it.”

 

“I can’t lie, it is a bit weird, seeing you two together.”

 

“Thanks for your support, Janet.”

 

“No, I mean, it’s just like, I don’t know, _real_ , you know? I’ve always speculated there was something there, but well, Gill is far too professional to have ever done anything about it, and she terrifies you, so, I never thought anything would come of it, but here we are.”

 

“Here we are, indeed.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Gill and Rachel finally get on with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Homophobic slurs.

Dave insists on staying until the very end of the reception, seeing off all the guests with Gill, as a pair, some sort of cosplay of functional parenthood. When it’s finally over, he corners her, slurry and surly and she really does not have time for it, today of all fucking days. 

 

“So, what- you’re a  _ dyke _ now?” 

 

He spits out the word, clearly intending for it to cut deep. 

 

“I thought we’d settled that you have no business passing any judgment on my romantic life. Besides, you were all for me snogging women thirty years ago- what’s the problem now- I pull hotter ones than you?” 

 

He huffs. 

 

“Just think it’s a bit trashy to be carrying on like that at your own son’s wedding, that’s all.” 

 

Gill glares at him, willing her eyes to be knives. 

 

“I danced with several partners tonight, of multiple genders. I don’t think anyone else present was homophobic enough to take umbrage with any of my behavior, and seeing as I’m completely sober, and you’re a drunken twat, I don’t think I have to worry about their judgment. You on the other hand,” she gestures towards his… situation before turning on her heel. 

 

“Yeah, well, there’s no way it could be as good as the sex we had,” he calls after her, far too loudly. 

 

Gill freezes mid-step, her voice soft and lethal.

 

“No, not for you, I don’t expect it will be.” 

_

 

It’s harder to kill time without a pack of cigarettes. Rachel leaves the reception as the crowd starts to thin, not wanting to be too obvious in her lingering (she has a feeling her presence wouldn’t make Dave any  _ less  _ twatty). Rambling in heels may not be entirely practical, but the extra coordination required (and the increased pain in her feet) keeps her mind focused on her movements, not the copious amount of adrenaline coursing through her veins. 

 

She walks until her legs ache and she feels the beginning of pinpricks of sweat on her brow, even with the brisk air. And  although it’s now far too late in the game to attempt to play things cool, she times her arrival at Gill’s to 00h15 on the dot- late enough to not be eager, early enough that Gill hasn’t completely abandoned all hope of her showing up. 

 

She’s barely got a knock in when she hears Gill’s voice, exasperated. 

 

“I swear to fucking God, Dave, I will call the police if I have to-” but upon opening the door her face softens. 

 

“Oh. Didn’t think you’d come.” 

 

Rachel lets herself in, before leaning back against the wall, keeping a bit of distance. 

 

“Why’s that?” 

 

“I just- dunno, it’s been a mad night. I think I’ve lost a bit of my nerve.” 

 

Rachel bites her lip, rethinking her path forward. 

 

“We don’t have to, you know. It’s never- this has never been just about sex for me.” 

 

“Yeah, it’s a whole host of other ethics violations and mommy issues.” 

 

“I was going to propose that we change into sweatpants and talk shit, but sure, we can insult each other and go home without getting off, if that’s what you want.” She pinches the bridge of her nose, beginning to pace in the vestibule. “You’re so frustrating sometimes.” 

 

“Thought you liked that sort of thing, hmmm?” 

 

“What did Dave say?” 

 

Gill waves a hand flippantly. 

 

“It was nothing. Called me a dyke and insinuated that I was making a spectacle of myself by dancing with you. Rubbish as usual.” 

 

But her chin quiver gives her away, and if he’s picked up on her insecurities then Gill worries that everyone is laughing at her. 

 

“You’re afraid people will think you’re as much of a joke as he is.” 

 

“I’m afraid of  _ nothing _ ,” Gill glares. 

 

Rachel kicks off her heels, so that she’s about Gill’s height. (She’s not as short as she’s always imagined her, really, just small-boned.) 

 

“Well then what have you got to lose? We’re not breaking any rules here, you couldn’t be less like my mother if you tried, and my dad was just as shit but no one tried to pull that card when I was fucking men, did they?”

 

When Gill speaks, her voice is soft, measured. 

 

“But you were thinking of me when you did. Weren’t you?” 

 

Rachel blanches. This feels like a trap, like being on the other side of the interrogation table. 

 

Gill looks away from her, like she always does when she’s saying something particularly difficult for them both. 

 

“You left me a voicemail, the night you called about Geoff Hastings-” 

 

“When I asked if I’d said something rude?” 

 

“You did, in fact say something rude. The phrase ‘maybe you could fuck some sense into me’ comes to mind, but you know, it wasn’t as if I could bring that to light without firing you, and since you were pissed, and I felt guilty enough for actually wanting to perform said act, I just lied about it.” 

 

“And you let me carry on like a bloody idiot for the next two years knowing how I felt about you?” 

 

Rachel doesn’t know whether she’s more angry or ashamed. The feelings mix into one awful, gnawing, burning feeling. 

 

“Having a thing for power play and being in love are not the same thing, Rachel. I had no reason to believe you had  _ feelings _ for me. Considering you invited me to your wedding and all.” 

 

Rachel ignores that last bit, goodness knows bringing up Sean now, or ever, won’t help. 

 

“They’re not mutually exclusive, though, are they? One would think that sexual chemistry and romantic attraction were a desirable pairing, yet here you are, telling me off.” 

 

Gill rolls her eyes.

 

“Janet called me on it, early. She said, “you’ve really got to stop giving Rachel such a hard time, she’ll think you hate her,” and I said “I don’t hate her,” and she said “Oh, I  _ know _ ,” in that way she bloody does, and- I was fine, _ really _ , until we went to Bristol, and then, next thing you know, you’re under arrest for murder. You’ve always had shit-timing, kid.”

 

“What’s shit about right now?” 

 

Gill finally looks at her, incredulous. 

 

“I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. Why should things finally work out now, after years of every star being misaligned?” 

 

“Why not? We’re both here, alive, in one piece.” 

 

“You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.” 

 

“If you’re trying to imply that I ought to get married and have babies you can sod off.” 

 

“The last time I trusted someone, he ruined my life and my career.” 

 

“And you could probably ruin mine with one phone call. But we’ve already been through hell and back together, Gill, the least we could do is get off for all our efforts.” 

 

“Glad to see you haven’t lost your way with words.” 

 

“I’d rather not be talking. I’ve said my piece.” 

 

“As much as they gossipped about you and Will Pemberton- throw in homophobia and a double dose of misogyny and you won’t hear the end of it at work.” 

 

“People will talk whether I walk out of this room now, or in the morning. Now, do you want to see me naked, or shall I fetch my coat?” 

_

 

Gill  _ doesn’t _ see her naked, not at first, anyway. She closes the distance between them and moves in for the kill (and maybe the power-play stuff was a bit projection on Gill’s part, but there will be time to psychoanalyse when Gill Murray’s tongue isn’t in her mouth), and  Rachel winds up sat on a suspiciously high chair, skirt around her waist, as Gill bites her neck and works her fingers. 

 

It’s over too soon, because Gill is as perceptive and diligent in this pursuit as in any other, but the upshot to sex without blokes involved is ain’t over ‘til it’s over (and no one’s getting pregnant tonight). 

 

“Jesus.” 

 

“I don’t know if that’s better or worse than you calling me ma’am.” 

 

“Bloody egomaniac.” 

 

Gill’s smile is gentle despite the fire burning in her eyes, and she reaches out to push a sweaty wisp of Rachel’s hair out of her eyes. 

 

“I’d say I’ve earned a bit of smugness, wouldn’t you?” 

 

Rachel rallies, standing up and unpinning her hair, then reaching back to unzip her dress, stepping out of it as it falls to the floor. 

 

“Are you going to come to bed, or just stare at my arse?” 

_ 

 

In all her drunk fantasizing, Rachel had never allowed herself to imagine Gill’s body, touching her. She was always on the receiving end, turned away, hands pinned, at the mercy of Godzilla, for better or for worse. 

 

But when presented with the real thing, her fingers move of their own accord, ghosting touches over Gill’s spine (after she huffs “I hate to ruin the momentum you’ve got going there, Sherlock, but not all of us can get away with going starkers underneath our frocks, and beckons her to lend a hand with her own zipper). 

 

When Rachel pauses in adoration, Gill interprets it as hesitation. 

 

“Honestly, if you’re that disappointed just turn out the lights and get it done with, Rachel.” 

 

Rachel just beams, meeting her averted eyes. 

 

“You’re brilliant. Absolutely, bloody brilliant.” 

 

Gill climbs into the bed beside her, propping up on an elbow and giving her a scrutinizing look. 

 

“You’ve never struck me as the sweet-nothings type of girl, Bailey. And I’m not into that, so please don’t go for romantic. It doesn’t suit you. You’re rash, and impulsive, and rough around the edges, and lucky for you, that ticks all my boxes. So, for the love of god, stop staring, and stop waxing poetic, and kindly fuck me.” 

 

(Rachel’s always been good at following orders.)

 

If it were anyone else, she’d probably be put off by the bossiness- the way Gill grabs her hand to change the angle, or pushes her head towards her breasts, but god, it’s all more than worth it for the moment the mask slips, and Gill is sighing and shuddering against her. 

 

(It’s the closest to equals they’ll ever be, she knows that.) 

 

Gill removes her hand, gently, before letting her body slump against Rachel’s. 

 

“Well done, kid.” 

 

Rachel grins into her hair. 

 

“You’re the sun. Radiant, magnificent, the center of my universe. I could sing your praises for a million years.” 

 

“You sound like a Christian pop singer.”  

 

“Didn’t take you as the religious type.” 

 

Gill lifts her chin, narrowing her sleepy eyes. 

 

“Orla’s parents are. Sammy insisted I come with him to church when they first started dating. Bloody red flag.” 

 

“Oh, you love her.” 

 

“Yeah, I do. I think I worry more than anything that Sammy will turn out like his dad.” 

 

“It’s you he admires. Doesn’t take an ace detective like myself to see that.” 

 

Gill extricates herself from the sheets. 

 

“Seeing as you’re still able to form full sentences, I’m going to wash my face, and then I’m going to make you forget every word except for my name. All right?” 

 

“I can live with that.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're back, baybeee!!! 
> 
> sorry for the absence, hope it was worth the wait, love you all to pieces.


End file.
